


There Goes The Neighborhood

by ofproperform



Series: Fire Escapes [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU where Clint and Logan are neighbors, Alcohol, Carnie Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Trans Clint Barton, because that's the purest brotp, daken didn't lose his mom at birth also like this is au upon au wow i'm trash, if ur getting into this be prepared, sean cassidy the dork best friend, slow burn. really slow like this is glacially slow., this is an introduction to them, will later discuss clint's childhood so u kno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofproperform/pseuds/ofproperform
Summary: Clint Barton is three things: A Stunt Show Performer at a newly opened Theme Park, an Archer who used to make trick-shots for a living, and bad at making bets he can win. He's also moving in to his new apartment today.Logan Howlett just wanted peace and quiet and he's gonna get none of that with this new neighbor.





	1. Prologue

Today is not Clint Barton’s day. Not by a long shot. When you lose a bet because you think you could outrun a kid who would have medaled in the olympics, this bad day is on you though. Clint Barton moved to New York City with just a few things; his clothes, his equipment, and his cockiness. Who would have thought he was gonna let that get him in trouble?

 **Everyone**.

Barton had just started working at a newly opened Theme Park, so much more stable and less crusty than his nomadic carnie life he'd been living. It was opened just outside of New York City. Pietro, the kid he lost the bet to, was one of the performers there, in a stunt show. Today was the kind of day when you have to text your best friend Natasha and ask her to pick you up because what little pocket money you had just got taken when you let a guy convince you he could outrun you in a bet.

" _Barton_ ," she cooed as he slumped down beside the ginger, her delicate frame inconspicuous. She looked like every soft female walking past them, hiding that she was part of the Theme Parks group of "Stunners." She was able to swallow swords and other weapons and as a former acrobatic master she could do it while dazzling crowds in positions others found 'death defying'. When Clint was teamed with her she had to do it while facing the threat of being shot by an arrow. «Of course Pietro is faster than you? He was an Olympic contender before he came to work at the Park.»

Her accent only comes out when she trusts the person she's speaking to, and in this case, sitting on a grungy sidewalk and signing as she talks, smoke rising from the cigar hanging from between lithe fingers, she sounds softly or her old home, of Medovik and the cold winters she often tells Clint about. When she is soft he reminds himself that it's not that often and that he is lucky to hear this, lucky his hearing aides are working. She's still scolding him though, and he falls to laughter briefly, sloppy grin on his face.

Clint Barton is 35 and has lived his life traveling the country as a carnie. He doesn't know what staying in one place is. He’s sure staying here on this contract is going to kill him though, because being in one place for too long must be bad for you. Natasha is making calls, and he hears Pietro on the other end speaking to her in Romanian. He wishes it were Italian, maybe then he'd know what they were saying. She seems to be scolding the kid.

Clint Barton stands at 6'3”, full of wiry muscle good for pulling a bow or twisting for tricks. His blonde hair is everywhere in a short mess of spikes and curls atop his head, round face slightly tan from all the time he spends out in the sun. Soft blue eyes stare unblinking at the sky above them before fixing on Natasha, full lips pulling into a thin line while she wraps up the conversation.

“ _Mulțumesc_ , see you tomorrow.” She hangs up and looks at Clint like a mother who has just fixed a problem for their child, and sighs. «You're buying everyone lunch tomorrow- he's already put in the order. At least he's not buying pot with the cash, Barton.» She shrugs, and he nods in resignation. «Have you moved in?» She asks. He looks up and nods, before she continues “we should go furniture shopping, you have nothing but that couch that came with the place and the mattress that you bought on craigslist. The rest is all crappy-»

«I like it,» he defends. She's right. He's eating takeout on paper plates with plasticware, on a dingy couch that needs to be pressure washed. His mattress is sketchy. He still hasn't told Natasha about the gash he sewed up in it (thank god he knew some practical skills,) or that it smelled like fried rice when he got it. He should save some money and furnish the new apartment, but he could also use that same money to get take out.

Priorities.

“You're _lazy_.” She retorts. He laughs, a sort of jumbled sound that's too loud and shatters off of the buildings around him. He waves a hand and looks at her before nodding.

«You're right.” He stands up and yawns a little, looking up at the apartment complex stretching up into the sky. There’s a light on in the apartment next to his, and he wonders what kind of people live there. He's been sleeping over at Natasha's place, both because there's hardly anything in his apartment for him to sit on, and because spending time with her is easy. Most of the time they sit in silence watching Bake Wars, while he knits and she out bakes the bakers on television. «Might as well go have my first night in the apartment.»

"I'll walk you up." She hums as they make their way up the stair well, talking as they go. Clint is always slightly louder, even with his hearing aids in. So as he hits the third floor landing, his voice echoes the hallway. Natasha can already tell he'll be a nuisance to at least one neighbor. She just hopes she doesn't have to break up fights.

* * *

 

Tonight is the day that they hit the 6 month mark in the new apartment. Daken is still a brat but he's less so now. Logan Howlett has been running his Self-Defense classes out of the Xavier Building for about as long as they’ve lived in New York, it seems, pairing his former military training with his determination to keep people safe.

Tonight is a good night for Logan. The 5’3” teacher is sprawled over his couch while his son works on homework at the table, idly watching the news as it plays. He hears some commotion in the hallway as someone gets into their apartment but that’s hardly anything interesting, or even annoying. As long as the neighbor doesn’t start yelling or banging pots and pans around he’ll be **fine**.

It’s been a rough few months though. Daken complains that he’s trapped near nightly; he’d been suspended on the second day of the school year, caught smoking in the bathroom, and now four months later, he was still grounded. It’s been a struggle raising Daken these last ten years without Itsu; his wife had been murdered and he still has days when he’s not over it. Losing someone you love is always something that wraps around you like cold, wet cloth, and doesn’t let go. People react in different ways. For Logan it made him colder, more reserved. For Daken, who had been six and very attached to his mother, it made him brash, he acted out more. It’s hard to handle emotions when you don’t understand what’s just happened.

He teaches self defense classes because of Itsu. It happened about two years after her death. He had been military before they had settled down, but when she died he paired what he knew with what could have saved Itsu. Had he been home, had she been able to defend herself, there’s tons of ‘what if’s’ and ‘could have been’s’ that surround that night. In every person that comes to learn to protect them self he sees someone potentially not dying in the middle of the night. He sees Itsu _surviving_.

Daken makes a comment about the noise in the hall, “Sounds like the new guy _finally is moving in_.”

“Hrm?” Logan is barely listening but he tilts his head up as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah. About a month ago some loud guy came and looked around 3345 and then I heard him say something about taking it. About a week ago he moved his clothes in and I heard a girl with him- she was a lot quieter- but whatever the argument was about it had to do with him not having furniture.”

“Why’re ya **eavesdroppin** ’ on him?”

“Hard not to hear it when he’s practically **yelling**.” Daken closes his laptop and kicks his feet up on the table, leaning back in the chair. He brushes a hand through his messy mowhawk and rolls his eyes before Logan stands up.

“Well damn.” Logan walks up beside Daken, knocking his feet off the table before continuing into the kitchen. Now he realizes that the voice in the other apartment is getting louder. As Daken quickly corrects himself and tries not to fall in his seat, grumbling about his father, Logan opens the fridge.

_“Oh come the fuck on-- are you telling me there’s no wifi yet?”_

**There goes the neighborhood**.


	2. Pizza Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has had it with his loud neighbor. Clint has to apologize.

" _Day two of the invasion of the neighbor chatters,_ " Daken mumbles to himself as he types away, working on homework. His father is clearly not amused with the loud-mouth next door, or his sharp witted son. Logan bears down in his seat, gritting his teeth when his neighbor changes gear from watching a western movie to watching a shitty rom-com, and starts to give it sarcastic narration.

"I mean, he's right dad, that's a damn stupid trope. ' _I can't live without you_ ' is bull-"

"Daken watch your **fucking** language."

"Alrighty then, _double standards_." The teen scrunches down in his seat and flips over to another screen to fire off a message to a friend before his dad sees it. Daken rolls his eyes and focuses on the essay about the formulaic western. He's regretting about now this elective film history class. He thought it would be a breeze.

"Goddammit," he hears and he's regretting moving into a place with walls so thin he can hear people thinking about being idiots. Logan groans and you can see him press into the couch more, as if the more he pretends to be relaxing and watching his motorcycle show, the more he'll actually relax- "Why the fuck would you go back with him, Karen, he's a grade A fucking idiot."

"You're a grade A fucking idiot." He grumbles as beer bottle meets lips and he gulps the contents down.

"Language, dad."

"Daken who asked you?"

Daken shrugs and gets up, shutting his laptop before he carries it off to his room. "Maybe go visit the neighbor and see if he's trying to annoy us?" Logan ignores that. Two more hours and 3 more beers pass and by the time he's swiping the fourth out of the fridge, he's fed up. He calls out to Daken to wait on him and then it's off to shut the new guy up.

The new guy really hates this movie, but his regular shows are in reruns, and he doesn't care much about seeing the same bakers get fucking wasted by the competition over and over. It's 8:00 PM and he's so engrossed in this movie, regardless of how much he wants its director to drop off the face of the earth, that he's talking back to it. He doesn't realize though that his neighbors now know that he utterly despises Bourne Legacy.

Logan has been outside his door now for a full minute, in socks, waiting for him to answer the door. He's been pounding away on the door, riled up and getting more incensed, as the seconds pass. Clint doesn't notice. Not until Logan finally rings the doorbell, shouting for Clint to 'pay the fuck attention,' does anything happen. The lights flash, there is no usual biiiing-booong that drags even the visitors attention to it. From the crack under the door Logan can see the lights start strobing.

"What the fuck?" he grumbles, hands in his pockets now as he hears a noise of alert come from the loud occupant, and then a hurry towards the door.

"Yeah, hey, what's up?" Clint asks, looking at the guy to see what's the matter.

"You wanna keep it down in there, kid?"

Standing in front of Logan, in the doorway of what looks like a near-empty apartment is a mess; faded grey shirt with THE WHO on it, grey sweatpants and bright purple socks that seem to be scrunched up around his ankles, too big for his feet. His blond hair is a mess, he's not been out of the apartment all day. His smile though is golden. He's a retriever puppy, this slight looking guy with decent muscles but wide hips and a round face, and he looks genuinely concerned about having bothered Logan.

«You're muttering, what was that?» He signs as he speaks and shrugs his shoulders when he finishes, scratching his hands through his hair. He was too lazy to keep up with reading Logan's lips, so he shrugs and waits for him to repeat himself.

Logan just glares and inhales and then slowly, and loudly shouts out " **SHUT. UP.** " But he says it like when he's teaching someone who just doesn't want to be taught, because he can't fucking take this right now. Clint is just leering because who pissed in this guys Wheaties? (Clint assumes that he's in fact the person who pissed in this guys wheaties, but he's just moving on because whatever.)

«OK. OK. We good?» He signs good and smiles sloppily.

Logan is simmering. He wants to tell the blonde that they are, in fact, the opposite of good, he settles for waving him off. "Yeah we're good, bub." he answers, air quotes around good. He's annoyed with the situation, but at least the guy apologized.

"Cool because listen, I hate when I get someplace and the neighbors are complete tools."

Well that's a way to ruin it. Logan grunts and almost takes the bait to hit him (you miss 100% of the shots you don't take,) and storms off.

Clint shrugs, watching him go. It's a shame that he couldn't take a joke. He was cute; had that grumpy tough guy aesthetic. Clint tries to tell himself he doesn't have a type (but he then reminisces on those of that type and grabs his phone to text Nat,) as he closes the door and goes back to watching his movie, in relative silence this time.

Logan slams the door behind himself and can hear Daken ask "went well?" before going back to his own business. He flops back onto the couch and slumps into it, grabbing the beer he had left behind to go after his noisy neighbor.

That's that- he's told the guy to keep it down and the guy apologized even if he was a dickbag.

* * *

 

Clint wakes up the next day feeling guilty for having annoyed his slightly attractive new next door neighbor. He wishes that the guy had stayed long enough to get a proper apology from him, but also remembers being the one who ticked the guy off. He decides he'll provide a gift to the guy, an apology and thanks for welcoming me to the complex.

He calls his former student-turned friend for advice on what to do. Kate Bishop is a busy college kid and her response is just the pizza emoji. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of that? A day without pizza for him is a day wasted. He texts her the address of the cute guy and lets her order because he hates the online ordering run-around and calling is a bitch. He regrets this decision later.

By the time Daken finishes hauling the ten pizzas into the apartment and starts pulling a slice out of a box, Logan is home and pissed at the sight of the stack of pizza boxes.

"Why did you order 10  fucking pizzas?" Logan is ready to ground the kid. He's already in a shitload of trouble.

"I didn't." Daken says, moving each box onto a table or chair and opening them to look at each one, trying to see which one he wants to dig into next (man he loves pizza,) before pointing at the lid of a meat lovers. "The deaf guy did." He shrugs, before his father pushes over to look at what his son is showing him.

' ** _Enjoy the pizza. Sorry- Clint B_**.'

Logan considers murder for a good split second. He wonders why this guy is such an asshole that he'd order and have delivered ten. fucking. pizzas. to another mans place. Does this guy (now he knows his name, Clint) think Logan will accept the apology just because he's got a copious amount of pizza? Is he that juvenile that he's pranking him?

After an hour of trying to really decide how he was going to handle this (and watching Daken eat a piece off of every pie,) he gets up, slogging over to the neighbors. again.

Clint seems to answer right away, smiling because he's so proud of himself, asking loudly «did you get the pizza?"

"Yeah, idiot."

«Did you like it? I wanted to apologize.» Logan just continues glaring at him and Clint wonders why that's the response he's getting; just why didn't he appreciate the pizza?

"What the fuck? Ten fucking pizzas? What's wrong with you?" Logan snarls and Clint stares before he checks his phone, suddenly looking at his phone, looking horrified before busting out in laughter. Logan doesn't get what's happening; here's this puppy of an idiot laughing like a fool in front of him staring at his phone.

«Gotta stop letting Bishop help me with apologies.» His laughter bubbles down and he looks up. «I'm terrible at apology. More or less I don't do it.» He smiles with a goofy slack and tries not to look dejected. «Guess Kate thought she'd be funny.»

There's a loud, heavy sigh and Logan drags a hand through his messy hair. He doesn't know who the fuck Clint is talking about, and he doesn't care. "Try just sayin' sorry. I don't need ten pizzas, or five. Maybe just try beer. Or just start off by not being an asshole."

«Well, I have beer. You can bring a pizza over and I'll let you drink my beer?» Clint looks hopeful, and Logan grunts. «And when did I go from 'loud' to 'asshole,' how'd I accomplish that?» Logan snorts. Logan could just end the conversation and go back down the hall and ignore Clint and eat some pizza in peace. But he gives Clint the benefit of a gruff answer.

"When you ordered ten fucking pizzas. Anyway, why don't you bring your beer over to my place? I have a tv and I can't leave the shithead for too long or he sneaks out."

«Shithead? Just don't leave the window open and your cats won't sneak out-» He waves his hand and screws up his face, before pulling a jacket on, zipping it up. He looks a little better today, like he's put better sweatpants on and brushed his hair.

"My son, idiot. Shithead is my son. See, this is why you're an asshole."

«Shithead is a terrible name for a son. Garth, Shithead, Maury, all terribe names. »

"Dumbass," he scowls "his name is Akihiro, or Daken as his mom's family calls him." Logan rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his broad chest. "But that's beside the point, you bring the beer. I guess I have the TV and the pizza." He grumbles. "Even though you purchased the fucking pizza."

Clint grins and nods eagerly. "Gotcha." He disappears into his apartment while Logan storms back to his apartment.

It's hardly a party, and it's much more two men sharing barely cold beer and room temperature pizza with a teen while they watch some d-list movie playing before the news comes on. Clint likes this feeling, he likes being around people he didn't meet because of work. He's sure one day he'll pack up and move away from it, but until that, he's preparing to enjoy it. Clint hopes more nights like this happen.

Logan just hopes he won't be annoyed anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to keep these chapters short and compact. Sorry if you like chapters to be hella long.


	3. House Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint brings some friends home, and a surprise text message derails their celebration.

Three weeks have passed and not much has really transpired between the two men, other than a brief run-in or two on the staircase or briefly passing in the hall, and a number exchange in case here were emergencies. Clint is relatively quieter, but there are incidents with him getting over-excited or his hearing aid battery dying where he gets too loud and Logan has to text him to shut up. 

 

Today is a relatively  _ special  _ day for Clint, celebrating a successful new show, as he and three of his co-workers stumble aimlessly into the hall and laugh. They had been at a bar but when it got overrun with obnoxious frat boys they all escaped to the quiet of Clint’s place. As they amble into the living room area of the little apartment, Natasha goes directly to the kitchenette and makes herself a glass of wine while Clint drapes himself dramatically over the couch. 

 

"Who wants beer?" Pietro slicks a hand through his messy white hair and shoots a look towards everyone else who has either settled onto the floor or, like Nat, has kicked Clints feet off the couch and put herself beside the archer.

 

Sean Cassidy, a 30 year old tech for the shows they put on, shakes his head and sprawls out against the side of the couch as he looks up, Clint draped in such a way that he's nearly face-to-face with him. Clint sways and looks at Sean, clearly tipsier than he noticed. "None for Clint, dude." He waves, before Clint lazily turns over so that he can swipe at Sean from above. "I'll just give him affection.That’s enough."

 

Sean is closest to being Clint’s best friend besides Natasha. After helping Clint not fall off a cat-walk, they started talking about whatever. After being near inseparable Sean had asked him out. Sean Cassidy was a proud and self-proclaimed polyamory know-it-all. His joking aside, Clint was too new and was sure he wouldn’t stay in the area long, so he turned him down, but it didn’t stop their friendship from being really affectionate.Sean texts his girlfriend and then lifts up to kiss Clint, to which he receives a pretty normal reaction from the blonde, which is the laughing brush of a hand as he gets pushed away. 

 

"Mmmm Right, you like them  _ big and grumpy _ ." Sean laughs. Pietro slips down beside Sean and wraps an arm around his ginger friend

 

"Like that  **neighbor** ," Natasha hums out, much to the blushing of Clint. 

 

"You're not wrong but  _ keep your voice down _ !" Clint yelps and he gets a text.

 

From an number he didn't recognize.

 

[txt: Unknown] Hey can you be less gay about my dad?

[txt: Clint] uh bruh who is this?

[txt: Clint] ???????

[txt: Unknown] Daken next door. Stole your ##, dad can't hear you but my room is right. Here. And your friend just said you like them big and grumpy and the girl said it was your neighbor.

 

Clint blushes a deeper shade of crimson and looks around, before groaning loudly, slapping Sean's shoulder.

 

«The neighbor kid is eavesdropping» Clint signs to Natasha who mumbled about it, and Sean yells, to Barton’s dismay "hi neighbor!"

  
  


[txt: Clint] ok but like ur not gonna tell your dad right?

[txt: Cint] ????

[txt: Clint] bc i can pay u for ur silence

[txt: Daken] Ugh don't act so whiney. I'll keep quiet if you guys don't annoy me. 

[txt: Clint] deal.

 

Clint tosses his phone onto the yet to be unpacked boxes that he calls a coffee table, and returns to his friends. He smacks Sean gently over yelling, and Sean laughs lightly, mirthful and calm before he settles down and Clint looks at everyone.

 

Natasha is curled in on herself, and Clint takes a moment to comment on how feline she looks. Legs tucked against her chest, chin rested on knees, she is texting- and by the content smirk on her face he idly assumes it's Bucky and Steve- both of whom she's dating. Looking over at her phone he’s proven right, and he leans against her to tell her to ‘snap a selfie,’ of the two of them, and when she sends it to the boys, Bucky responds immediately ‘say hi to the dork,’ which Natasha relays.

 

Sean is so relaxed that he's starting to fall asleep. He is sprawled out, legs stretched in relaxation, hands over his stomach. Shaggy copper hair falls in choppy and messy strikes across his face. From the position he's in, his forehead just barely touches the side of Clint’s face. 

 

Pietro is texting his sister, asking her about classes. Clint forgets some days that he's so much younger than Clint or even others like Sean, and it's sometimes jarring to be reminded that he is in fact 22. The Maximoff's were barely out of high school when Pietro changed paths, in part because he was determined to make sure Wanda could go to school and be successful, happy. He's like Natasha; curled into himself, but more tensely than she is, with his long arms stretched out and his phone rested on his well-worn sneaker tops.

 

They're all a motley bunch. Natasha looks like she should be at the Opera tonight, Pietro looks like he got lost on the way to a Lost Boys convention, and Sean looks like he got pulled from the pages of fashion magazines in the 60's. None of them look like they fit with Clint and his everyday, run of the mill guy look. He's draped over the couch arm, toned arms supporting him.

 

"We should go introduce ourselves." Sean mumbles.

"You should do the opposite of that," Pietro comments, rolling his eyes while Sean looks up at Clint and smiles, hoping he'll defend the idea of going over to the 'hot' neighbors place. Clint shakes his head before answering.

 

"Yeah I think the guy wants peace." Clint says, signing clear rejection of the idea before Sean gives a little dismissive grunt and moves on, relaxing back down.

 

“Tell me about this guy.” Sean looks up and Clint shrugs at him, thinking of how to describe Logan. Sean gets up and sits on a box labeled ‘stuff,’ and Pietro gets up and gets another beer, bringing everyone else one, before he sits at Sean’s feet. Clint rolls his eyes at their sudden interest in Logan. Natasha continues to focus on her phone even though she’s idly listening, grabbing the offered beer without looking up. She’s met the neighbors, and she’s not as interested.

 

«He’s the same height as me practically- really  **compact** .» He hums and sits back, before using his hands to describe what he’s talking about. «Muscular, hairy, he’s got a beard, really dark hair. It’s black but. Like  _ coffee _ .» He points at Pietro «Like your sister's hair.» Pietro nods, thinking of her hair, getting the picture. «He’s a teacher apparently. When I was getting his number he mentioned it.» Natasha leans in against him. Without missing a beat, she comments.

  
“Not sure about  _ you  _ Clint, but I think he has a thing for redheads.”

«Haha, looks like I’m shit outta luck.» Clint jokes before giving a wave of his hand. «But he’s grumpy and probably also has a thing for girls.»

 

“Well you always have  _ me  _ to fall back on,” Sean jokes “but I can always  _ test  _ the redhead theory.” He winks. Clint laughs and rolls his eyes. «We could make a bet.» Clint’s phone goes off, strobing briefly as it vibrates, and Sean hands it back to him. Clint is immediately looking between the wall and the phone.

 

[txt: Daken] Listen. You guys got quieter but I can still hear you.

[txt: Daken] Dad swings both ways.   
[txt: Daken] But he hasn’t been with anyone in ages.

[txt: Clint] !!! why are you telling me this

[txt: Daken] You or that friend who wants to see if my dad is into redheads

[txt: Daken] You have a chance if you’re not annoying.

[txt: Daken] But listen I don’t care.

 

“Jeesh” he huffs and pockets the phone. Natasha stands up and waves a hand. 

 

“I get the bed.” She announces. By now she’s helped him get an actual bed frame, and she has told him that now she 'can stay over.’ She makes her way to the room and hums goodnight, before Clint takes that moment to stand.

 

“Pietro, help me get blankets and pillows.” He asks as he makes his way to a box full of rolled up blankets. “Pillows are all in the bedroom in my closet.” He adds and Pietro heads to get them. He grabs a bright green and yellow blanket- a really atrocious plaid print on his flannel blanket- and tosses it at Sean, before tossing a few more his way. He nests- he just hasn’t gotten comfortable enough in his apartment to turn his bed into the comfort zone he wants. When Pietro returns he has an armful of pillows and he drops them on the floor.

 

“Make yourselves comfortable.” He offers before he grabs a black blanket and pillow on his way back to the couch. He drops onto the couch and removes his hearing aid, before putting it in a case he carries them in, putting it over on the back of the couch. 

 

“G’night” Sean bundles up under a few blankets, close to Pietro. 

 

His phone vibrates one more time. He looks but doesn’t respond, smiling.

 

[txt: Daken] yo man, good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Reminder that chapters will be brief and quick because I want them to be palatable. If you don't recognize Sean Cassidy that's okay! He's the Banshee from the X-Men, and in general I just love him a lot. I'm keeping the Maximoff's in their twenties. As a note, all side-relationships might be touched on at some point but in general (like an aside about Nat/Bucky/Steve, or a little piece about Pietro and Wanda,) but really the focus is on Logan and Clint. I'd love to hear who you're hoping shows up in the fic! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading this. This is inspired by psuedo-roleplay I did with someone about a year ago. I'm publishing this mainly to hopefully find the person again, also because I've been sitting on this idea for so, so long. I've changed some thing s up (mainly made it a little more comfortable and reader friendly,) as well as adding my own headcanons to Logan, whereas before it was mainly the other person's headcanons. Bub, this is for you.
> 
> Also: Clint is still 25% hearing if you're measuring it. He can hear very loud sounds without his aids in and with his hearing aids in he can hear voices if they're close enough, and only on his left side.


End file.
